A Trip Down Bloggery Lane

Over a year ago, I had this blog where I intended on posting Microsoft Paint pictures that I drew. They looked like "outsider" ("mental inpatient") art and so I named this blog "Scrawl of a Re-Re." However I never figured out how to post these aforementioned scrawls, so I just posted weird writings and, needless to say, the project deflated with the unheeded whistle of a midnight fart.


I was moved to check the Scrawl today (aka I was bored to tears and had bruised every online media source with my impossibly frequent hits) and salvaged some little things, including this poem:

I don't know what I'm doing
and I dont know what it means.
Am I doing it all solo
Or doing it in teams?

Am I reading all the letters
am I seeing all the signs?
am I thinking with my feet?
am I walking with my mind?

It makes no sense at all
not a little or a lot
It hasnt in the grownup world
it didnt as a tot.

The only thing I know about
this big civil safari
is I love to drink and sleep and
eat fresh broiled calamari.

"Jules," you ask, "what's up?
What's this?" Its not even that funny!
Well fuck you Curly, you try it
when theres bourbon in your tummy

And its noon, you're starved, you're
reeling, you're on PCP and meth
you've got bruises, scars, you're cross-eyed,
you've got crazy penis breath,

you're dressed like such a floozy that
the blind cant help but stare.
your tits are out so far, a
pigeon's started nesting there.

You don't have all the answers
and you dont have even one.
You're not a dead babboon
but you're also not that fun

when you're trashed at nearing noon
and you're shameful and ill-suited
to this lifestyle which can't handle that you
just passed out and booted

on your office fan which sent it flying
like a chowder pot exploded.
Forget it, guys, I'm tired.
So whats up guys? lets get loaded.